


Outing

by Toxic_Waste



Category: Brawl Stars (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Fridge Horror, Gen, POV Second Person, Short One Shot, Starr Park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29164929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toxic_Waste/pseuds/Toxic_Waste
Summary: You think it's probably a little too hot for your perfect liking - but there's a breeze and not a cloud in the sky, so you can't complain. It's a perfectly pleasant day for a little vacation. Treat yourself!
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	Outing

The sun is bright, there are birds chirping. You shade your eyes against the sun as you park the car. Gas is more expensive than it has ever been – almost thirty cents, ridiculous. You’re almost breaking the budget as it is. But not even concerns about money are reason to deny yourself _every_ pleasure. Besides, you work hard, so you feel like you deserve to treat yourself. There’s that whole saying about all work and no play, right?

Stopping to tie up your hair, you step out of the car and join the line of people exiting the parking lot, heading for the park entrance. The ticket booths flash invitingly, and you can see at least two roller-coasters looming up in the background. Distant screams waft out to you, and you watch the cars flying around at truly ridiculous speeds… that’ll be you soon enough, if you want. Roller-coasters certainly are impressive looking contraptions from the ground, even from so far away.

The bridge towards the booths creaks beneath the weight of you and everyone else. You tuck your hands in your pockets and slowly traverse the distance in line, little by little. There are honeybees buzzing busily through the air, and you laugh at the sight of their fat little bug bodies.

“Tickets, ma’am?”

It’s been only about twenty minutes. You smile, pulling out a small wad of paper money, spreading it on the ticket booth. “One, please. For adult.”

The glass on the booth is fogged. You can’t really see the person back there (for security, you suppose?) But the money you slip into the slot doesn’t come back – instead it’s a hand, sliding you a ticket. The ticket-seller shifts, and you’re sure they’re smiling at you.

“Here you go, ma’am. All-day pass. Enjoy the stay!”

“Oh, I will.” You smile back, then turn and jog towards the turnstiles. The machine there reads your ticket quickly, beeping and biting it off, leaving you with a little red stub marked ‘CUSTOMER COPY’ and ‘DO NOT DISCARD’. You thumb over it, and stick it deep in your pocket somewhere.

A map of the park is before – and behind it, a roller-coaster looms. Fresh air fills you, and you are ready for anything.

The sun creeps over the sky as you explore the park, from here to there, and there to here. Everywhere you turn, it seems that there is still more to explore. A whole hotel (just like Disney Parks have) if you even wanted to spend the night, though you don’t have _that_ kind of money, no. You still check it out, though, and the little instant camera you bought from the gift shop eats through film roll after film roll. There are just too many things to take pictures of, really. It’s too bad you can’t really check on any of the ones you took until they’re developed. To make up for that, you’ve just decided to buy more film.

The girl at the shop seems to know what you’re in there for the third time you go in. She grins and has the film in a bag before you even reach the counter. You’re not sure how you have passed this shop so many times as you criss-cross, but it’s honestly convenient. Check the park map and it always seems to be just around a corner or through a little shortcut (and once, a boat ride).

It’s the time of your life: and soon, it’s the meal of your life, too. Your stomach growls angrily at you for daring to forget so long (your watch says three o’clock? Damn, where did it go?) – but when you check the map. there’s a little food stall just ‘round the bend (and a bathroom too, handily.)

The line at the snack stand is short, thankfully. You stand patiently in line behind a woman who seems way too enthralled with the number of milkshakes she can order. There’s a woman with a baby in a stroller nearby, and the baby is cooing at a nearby security camera feed, watching the monitor under the camera flash and flicker. You wave into the camera, making an exaggerated face, and are rewarded by the baby bursting into laughter.

Finally the woman in front of you is done (seriously, she must have gotten enough milkshakes for a small army) and you step up to the booth. “I’ll take, uh, a hotdog, I think.”

The vendor nods. “Toppings?”

You eye the menu carefully. “Actually, wait. What’s that – spaghetti?”

He smiles lightly. “Ah, yeah – yeah it is. Want to try? It’s unlike anything you’ve ever had before.”

You shrug. “Sure, why not. This really is like a proper restaurant, isn’t it?”

“It kinda is one, yeah. I mean, I just work here, but I’ve worked in plenty of restaurants in my time, and this is nicer than half of them.” He shrugs. “Anyway, your spaghetti, ma’am.”

“Thanks.”

For being such an… unconventional meal for theme-parking endeavors, it’s actually pretty good. Would you say better than homemade? ...no, not really. But definitely better than most restaurants – guess that guy was right after all, you think.

Visiting the bathroom, you fix your hair and reapply your sun-tan lotion carefully in the mirror. This sort of place is just how you get way too burnt if you’re not properly careful. It’s been a lot of walking, but you still have a huge chunk of the park left, according to the map. And even more rides that you want to try.

The bathroom door opens. The mirror fogs up, and you can’t see properly anymore. Hair scrunchie in your teeth, you grunt in annoyance, reaching to wipe it off, and someone touches the back of your neck.   
  
“Hey, excuse mme!” you say through closed teeth. “Standing here.” Gah, your neck itches, and you drop your hold on your hair to swat at it. Something’s heavy – you trip. You’re caught. A presence, a grip.

Then there’s the floor.

“Ungh!” the gasp escapes you disgruntedly. You blink, your head spinning slightly, your eyes adjusting to the sudden dark. Did the lights go out? Where’s the light, uh – you shake your head – a candle, that would help.

You sit up, rubbing your head. Your clothes are stiff and heavy, thick fabric rustling as you look around. This isn’t – this is – oh. It’s your home, yeah, the place you live. Wooden floors creak under you as you stand, leaning heavily into a wall to catch your balance.

That was weird, kinda. It’s very warm in here, and you know that it’ll be warmer outside in the sun, but it won’t be so stuffy, either. On instinct, you reach into the dark and grab up what sits there – heavy, but you knew it would be, obviously.

Kicking the door open, you squint into the sun. Sand stretches away, and a cactus is there, too. You frown. Something isn’t right there. Yeah, there shouldn’t be a cactus there, should there? You look down, finding a thick and stocky gun in your hands, heavy and comforting. Hmm, you like this?

The cactus moves and someone is suddenly springing from behind it, and he’s smiling too – and so is the cactus!

You start, recoiling slightly. “Oh!”

“Hey, there you are!” he calls, waving you down. “C’mon, let’s go!”

“Go where?!” you call back.

He raises his eyebrows. “You know, the, um-”

“Oh!” You nod. He’s right, actually. You walk towards him, smiling broadly at your good friends. Of course he would try to pull such a stupid-ass prank. (Like you wouldn’t see it coming.)

He shakes his head. “Good to see you’re feeling good today,” he says, straightening his badge and stretching up on his boots, lifting his chin just a tad as he smiles.

“I’m still taller than you,” you remind him, smirking. “Always have been, always will be.”  
  
He pouts. “But not half so good-looking.”

“Shut up.”  
  
Colt rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Shelly, let’s get going.”

And he’s right. You ~~don’t wanna be~~ can’t be late.


End file.
